BRANDYWINE STREET STORIES #2
"ARE WE GONNA ACT THE FOOL, BOYS? "MOTOWN WAS SERIOUS BUSINESS
“Are we going to act the fool on Saturday? Are we?”
Dad started his daily speech to me and Chris about how to act in public. We knew the drill, but this week, we got the lecture daily, because Saturday we were going to see the Motown Review.
In our home, music was both fun and serious business. Just as serious was how to behave when you are out in the world
Home life was mostly like any other in our neighborhood: work, school, meals, play time, watch our favorite shows, and listen to music. The place for crazy play and games was the basement recreation room.
The rec room was aptly named because we wrecked the place quite often. We’d play ping pong, build forts, play hockey with Chris’s home nets and plastic puck.
Mostly we’d play games involving imaginary battles, teaming up with our friends. First, with imaginary guns, then toy guns that shot plastic cup-tipped darts. Laughs would be broken up by angry yells and taunting “ooohs.”
Suddenly Mom would appear on the stairs, an apparition in a housecoat, always at the moment when the most dangerous things happened:
a croquet mallet used as a sword;
the Hammer of Thor almost bashes me in the head;
Chris or cousin Eric climbing and falling off something they shouldn’t have been on in the first place;
a plastic toy hockey puck thrown like a rock, whizzing past a face.
She’d shout, “Stop it boys, right now, before somebody loses an eye! And remember I want everything - and I mean everything - put back in its place! Got me?” She would wag her finger angrily and head back upstairs.
After a pause we’d continue. Soon the ‘grenades’ thrown would go from soft foam rubber to plastic wiffle balls and bats, to the nuclear option:
From our home bowling game came rock hard balls and bowling pins.
These were the ultimate because you grab them by the tapered neck and hurl them at the opponent with power, accuracy, and a tumbling end-over-end motion that caused a momentary pause in the target, leading to a strike!
“What the hell is going on down there, goddamnit?” Dad’s voice thundered.
This level of crazy play always happened on Saturdays, right around the same time of Dad’s afternoon nap.
He came down and looked at the carnage. Everything we owned except for the ping pong table - thoughtfully and quickly broken down and used for cover or a part of our forts - was strewn about. It was a playtime war zone.
“That’s it, no more. Go outside and find something to do…after all this is cleaned up and put away.” He withered us with a last fiery stare and stomped up the stairs.
He meant business. Once we cleaned up the war zone, we moved onto our back yard, or to one of our friends’ yard, or bike up to the park, a few blocks away.
After a few hours, we’d come home to Mom’s lilting voice, “Hey, boys. It’s almost dinner time.”
After a break, everybody was back to the our relaxed, happy norm.
We could destroy the basement, as long as we didn’t break any glass or windows, and as long as we put all our toys, everything, back in its proper place.
But in public, especially in a restaurant, church, or some special place, god help you if you acted the fool.Between Dad’s threats and Mom’s look of disappointment, you learned actin’ the fool was a bad choice.
There was one time, I must have been around six years old, and I was actin’ the fool at our favorite restaurant, Gusti’s.
This home-style Italian place featured my favorite foods: ravioli and spaghetti and meatballs. For some reason I don’t remember, I threw myself on the floor and started crying and flopping around. It was the ultimate tantrum.
“You better get up off that floor and straighten up. Now.” Dad gave me a death stare. Mom morphed her lips into a dead, straight line, and shot me a look that said “We mean business.” I ignored all this and kept on. Dad grumbled and mumbled curse words and yanked my arm, dragging me out of the restaurant.
My tantrum faded into shock.
As we approached the car he asked, “Are we ready to act like an adult?”
I squirmed and cried with renewed vigor. Dad opened the door and shoved me in and slammed it shut. He yelled through the glass.
“What did I tell you? We’re going to have spaghetti and meatballs and all that good food. On the way home we’ll get you a couple of flat, old burgers from Little Tavern, how about that?”
He turned and walked away slowly. I pounded on the window.
“Dad, I’m ready to behave like an adult now.”
He kept walking. I screamed out. “I’m not actin’ the fool, Dad, not acting the fool. Please, Gusti’s.”
He stopped and looked back at me. “You sure? Cause if you act up and I have to drag you back out here, boy.”
I was stuck to the glass like a Spongebob window clinger. “Yes dad, I’m ready to behave now.” He let me out of the car and not a peep was heard from me until it was time to order.
There were consequences for actin’ the fool.
“Are we going to act the fool the Saturday? Are we?”
It was six days away, and we could not wait. Even though Chris was seven years old and I was eleven, way past the “act the fool” stage, he kept asking the question because we were going to see a concert - the Motown review was coming to Shady Grove Music Fair. This was an open top amphitheater which had musicals, opera, orchestras, and jazz, usually.
Here came Motown, the biggest and newest thing.
Besides radio and albums, there were shows that featured go go dancers. and rock, pop, and soul bands.
In the morning before school, there was Where the Action Is. I had to practically run to school to arrive on time thanks to this show. The bands performed, mostly lip synced, to their hits on sets like California beaches and amusements parks.
I wasn’t big on bands like Herman’s Hermits and the Young Rascals, but there’d be soul artists like Otis Redding and Little Stevie Wonder. I always watched until the very end when the credits rolled and we got to see my favorite girl group (then and now) Martha and the Vandellas. The setting was an amusement park, where the group sang and danced among the rides while singing hits like “Quicksand” and “Heat Wave.”
Those songs running through my mind gave the walk to school a little bounce.
All the parents, us kids, even the grannies, everybody was up on soul music and the Motown sound. The music was fresh, the artists were classy and presented themselves in a way that was uplifting to the Black community and showed us in the best light.
So when Dad bounded through the front door like he was a kid running to a Christmas tree, practically giggling, we knew something special was going on.
“Hey Helen! Helen?” He rushed into the bedroom, and they spoke loudly and happily.
“Sorry boys, but I had to tell my best girl the news first. I got tickets! We’re all going to Shady Grove to see the Motown Review. Live!” .
I said, “What do you mean we’re going to see the Motown review?” l was confused. I’d seen bands on TV and heard on the radio, but I didn’t get what they were talking about.
“I mean live! In performance. Right there on stage.” Mom looked at me funny. I had a hard time picturing it. “You know, right there on stage.”
“You mean the groups that are on our records?”
“Yes, those groups, right in front of us. On stage doing a full concert. It’s Motown, boys! ” It came into focus. Like the shows Shindig and Hullabaloo, but real and with us there.
Mom said, “It going to be the Temptations, the Four Tops and a surprise guest. I wonder who it is. Maybe Diana Ross?”
As the day of the show drew nearer, the question came.
“Are we going to act the fool the Saturday? Are we?” Dad said grimly.
It was three days away.
“Are we going to act the fool?”
“No Dad, no.” Chris and I recited in unison with the sweetest little kid voices, just like the boys and girls on Bozo the Clown Show.
I already had my clothes picked out. I know we had to wear suits, our Sunday best gear, but I was going to fight to wear my green, orange and red striped turtleneck shirt. I wanted to stand out.
Two days later, “Are we gonna -“
”No, no we gonna act right.”
And at last it was finally the day.
love this! can picture it all, having some familiarity with the characters involved, and having once been in that rec room.